


Last Snow Before Dawn

by deadlifts



Series: The End of Fódlan: An Apocalyptic AU [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Past Torture, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:34:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21590491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadlifts/pseuds/deadlifts
Summary: The war across Fódlan was only a distraction. While its leaders were fighting, Those Who Slither in the Dark emerged into the light to overthrow order. Now, five years later, society has collapsed and the results of their experimentation — bloodthirsty creatures that wear the faces of former friends and demonic beasts far more powerful than before — roam the land. As Those Who Slither in the Dark prepare to expand beyond Fódlan’s borders, Dimitri wages a doomed rebellion.One day, Claude von Riegan, presumed dead for five years, is found trying to cross the border into Sreng. Dimitri and his small group of survivors believe he is a sign of hope, but Claude, harboring demons of his own, sees himself in a different light.An apocalyptic AU
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan, Sylvain Jose Gautier/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Series: The End of Fódlan: An Apocalyptic AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1556476
Comments: 22
Kudos: 193





	Last Snow Before Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> This is a dark AU, so please be mindful of the following warnings: This fic contains descriptions of violence, food shortages/hunger, hunting animals (for food), and illness. Though no one is tortured or killed in the narrative itself, there are references to past character deaths and the previous torture of a main character. Dimitri is a key character in this story, so there are also mentions of his ghosts and his mental state; in addition, some characters harbor bleak outlooks.
> 
> Also, there is no Byleth in this AU. 
> 
> And finally, though there are pairings, it’s light on the romance and heavier on support/comfort.

For three days now, Sylvain and Felix have been hunting along the Gautier-Sreng border, seeking any sign of animal life. It is a dangerous area to hunt; accidentally crossing over the border would be an instant death sentence, and the cold, unforgiving climate at this time of year means one winter storm could easily be their undoing. Even so, those threats are far preferable to the those found further south. Here, at least, there are fewer demonic beasts. Here they will not find bloodthirsty enemies wearing the faces of their friends. 

Despite their efforts, they have found no decent source of food to bring back. This land, too, has been ravaged. 

Sylvain is busy trying to get a fire going so they can make camp for the night, but the wood is damp with snow and won’t ignite in response to his magic. Felix scouts the area while he works, a fair distance away but not out of sight. Sylvain is close to giving up on the fire — it wouldn’t be the first night they have spent without a meal or any significant warmth — when Felix whistles. 

Sylvain gets to his feet, grabs the Lance of Ruin, and quickly joins him. 

“Look.” Felix points in the distance. The snow is picking up and Sylvain has to squint to see in the dim light of the evening, but he can just make it out: a figure in the distance, slowly approaching. 

“Is that an animal?” he asks. It’s moving in a strange way, almost as though it is staggering. 

“I don’t think so.” Felix pulls his sword out of its sheath. “Let’s go.” 

They have no choice but to approach on foot. Sylvain hasn’t seen a horse in two years now. There are rumors that wyverns can still be found further east, but from what they’ve heard, they have gone wild in an effort to survive the current state of Fódlan. Sylvain would be surprised if there are any left at all, given how often he saw wyverns falling prey to demonic beasts in the earlier days. 

It’s slow going in the shin-high snow, but when they are finally close enough to make out details, Sylvain sees that Felix is right: that is no animal. It is a man, dressed in a tattered cloak and gloves too thin to be appropriate for the weather, stumbling through the snow. It looks as though his intention is to cross the border. Sylvain saw that same singular drive toward the north many times after the war, back when he was still trying to keep his territory afloat. 

He doesn't say anything. Neither does Felix. Since being uprooted and transplanted into their dwindling commune of survivors, he and Felix have been nearly inseparable, unrelentingly in sync. They don’t talk about it, but Sylvain is well-aware of what it means. Eventually, they, too, will fall prey to this new, terrible world. If they stick together, they can at least make good on their promise to die together. 

They both know they need to attack. Even a momentary delay can cost them their lives. 

Felix moves to the right, Sylvain takes the left. The man doesn’t see them at first. The wind is loud enough that it drowns out any noise they make. It’ll be an easy kill. Sylvain raises his lance and Felix raises his sword. 

The man must sense them because he suddenly stops and straightens. Then he turns to look at Sylvain. 

It’s wearing Claude’s face. 

Five years may have matured Claude’s features and the journey to the border may have rendered him unkempt and disheveled, but Sylvain still recognizes him. His eyes seem distinctly Claude — sharp despite the biting wind — as does the carefully constructed smile he wears despite his impending doom. 

He can’t hesitate. Hesitation means death, and so Sylvain drives his lance forward. Felix waits with his sword raised, giving Sylvain the kill but ready to intervene if necessary. 

Just as Sylvain is about to strike down the creature that wears Claude’s face, it says in a hoarse whisper, “Some reunion this is.” 

Sylvain has to jerk himself to the side to stop his attack, tripping over his own feet and nearly losing his lance in the process. Felix, seeing this, goes wide-eyed in both fear and fury. He doesn’t need to say it; Sylvain can tell that he thinks he’s lost his resolve. 

“Don’t!” he cries out as Felix prepares to attack instead. “It spoke — it spoke!” Felix is still such a stubborn man, even facing down the end of the world, so Sylvain finds himself gripping his lance tightly in anticipation of Felix following through with his strike. 

But Felix surprises him by pausing mid-step. Sylvain releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. 

“You could be hearing things.” He keeps his weapon ready, distrusting the situation. 

“I’m not!” Sylvain urges, stepping forward again to get a better look at the man. “Look, he hasn’t even moved.” 

The man has been standing quietly this whole time, quivering in the cold and swaying a little, but awaiting judgement. He’s made no effort to attack. 

Felix reaches out with his sword and pokes at him. The man turns his attention to him, now. Sylvain can see a brief expression of surprise flit across Felix’s face before he scowls again. 

“Are you man or beast?” he asks, poking at him again. 

With each poke, the man sways a little more, as though he’ll fall over if Felix continues. “I’m hurt that you’d forget me,” the man with Claude’s face says. He tries to pout, but the effect is lost when he winces instead. “Is this because I kicked your ass during that sword tournament, all those years ago?” 

“Holy shit,” Sylvain breathes. 

“Not possible,” Felix says, though Sylvain thinks it’s more to convince himself than to offer any real argument. 

The man’s knees buckle and he topples. He catches himself in the snow and slowly pushes himself back upright. Neither Sylvain nor Felix move to help him. They are too shocked — too afraid to trust this. 

“If we’re done here,” the man begins, but then coughs for a long uncomfortable moment before continuing. “I’ll be on my way.” He starts walking again — that same, unsteady stagger toward the north. 

“Wait!” Sylvain comes to his senses and attempts to stop him, but he uses too much force. The man crumples to the ground. He starts coughing again, but even as he struggles to get air, he attempts to push himself back up so he can walk once more. 

Gathering the wherewithal to help him, Sylvain takes his arm and hoists him up far too easily. Beneath the cloak, the man is thin, maybe even emaciated. “Claude. Is it really you?” 

Felix is watching this procession without moving, still holding his sword as though he can’t accept that he will not need to strike the man down. 

“The one and only,” Claude replies. Once on his feet, he tries to stand on his own, but ends up leaning heavily into Sylvain instead. “Ah, this is embarrassing,” he muses. 

“Felix!” Sylvain yells, trying to jolt him into action. “Put away your sword and help me bring him to the tent.” 

“It can’t be him. Claude’s dead.” Felix doesn’t move. “You’re going to get yourself killed.” 

“He’s talking. He mentioned our time at the Academy. It’s him.” Sylvain starts guiding Claude toward their camp, using his lance as a support to keep them from losing footing in the snow. Felix can stand there and complain if he wants to, but Claude needs warmth and water and whatever scraps of food they can spare, otherwise he won’t be talking for long. 

“You never think anything through,” Felix chides him, voice tight. “What if they’ve gotten better at making them? What if they can talk now?” 

It isn’t out of the realm of possibility. The creatures that wear friends’ faces have gotten stronger and quicker over time. They could have learned to talk. It’s possible Those Who Slither in the Dark have even learned to give them memories. 

Claude groans as Sylvain jostles him forward. “Easy, my ribs —" 

“Sorry, sorry,” Sylvain apologizes, trying to adjust his grip. “I’ll help him without you, then,” he calls back to Felix, who finally sighs and relents, taking Claude’s other side and guiding him to their camp. 

“You’ll be the death of us,” Felix grumbles. 

When they make it back to their campsite, they set Claude down, wrap him in the blanket from their pack, and give him a water pouch, which he quickly finishes off. Sylvain tries to light some wood again, this time feeling more determined now that a life is the line — now that he has a reason to fight for survival, instead of resigning himself to an eventual death in the wilderness. With this new resolve, he manages to get the wood to spark to life. 

Once that is settled, Felix begins to cook their meager portion of squirrel meat — the last of their rations — and Sylvain turns to Claude. “We both know a bit of healing magic. What hurts?” 

“Nothing.” Claude looks away from him and into the fire. “I’m right as rain.” 

“You mentioned your ribs were bothering you. And you’ve been out here dressed like this for how long? We should check your fingers and toes for frostbite. Let me take a look.” 

“After all this time, you’re still trying to get everyone undressed,” Claude remarks, though there’s no teasing lilt in his tone. 

“Hey, I resent that.” And though Sylvain’s voice is light and friendly, he does actually resent it. The philandering days of his youth are long behind him, buried with the rest of everything he knew and loved. “I’m just trying to help.” 

Felix makes an impatient sound and walks over. “Go watch the meat,” he tells Sylvain. 

Sylvain hesitates, but Felix glares at him. Having already pushed Felix’s patience enough this evening, Sylvain gives in and walks over to where Felix has the meat set on a stick, draped over the flames. 

“I’m going to give you a choice,” Felix tells Claude, who watches him warily as he approaches. “Either point to where it hurts or I’m going to figure it out for you.” 

When Claude merely stares back him, Felix takes a step forward and reaches for him, ready to make good on his promise. Claude visibly flinches, then raises his hands. “Okay, okay, jeez,” he says, lightly, though the tension in his body betrays his carefree tone. “Hands off, though. Magic only.” 

Sylvain watches as Felix heals his hands, his feet, his ribs, and an area on his back, all of which Claude is careful to keep covered during the healing process. When he’s done, Felix sits down next to Claude, tired from the effort. “This is already more trouble than its worth." 

“I didn’t ask for this,” Claude points out. “You’re basically forcing me.” 

“Felix fusses a lot, but deep down inside he’s glad you’re alive. Aren’t you, Felix?” Sylvain teases. He knows it’s true though. For all his grumbling, Felix would gladly waste all his energy helping someone in need. 

“I’ll be glad when you stop rescuing strays.” 

“Claude’s not a stray. He’s one of us.” Sylvain grins at him. 

Claude looks away and doesn’t say anything. 

The meat is done, so Sylvain removes it from the fire and brings it over to the two of them. He hands Felix his portion, and then hands Claude the rest. Claude eyes it with what Sylvain thinks is supposed to be distrust, but it comes across more as longing. 

“You can have my portion, too. There isn’t much and I can tell you need it more than I do.” 

“Sylvain.” Felix’s voice is firm. “You’re no use to either of us if you’re weak. Eat something.” 

“It's more important for him to eat. Take it, Claude.” 

Claude glances between the two of them, but doesn’t take the meat. 

“You’re both like children,” Felix complains. He takes a bite of his, chews and swallows. “See?” he says to Claude. “Not poisoned. As for you,” he adds, looking back at Sylvain, “at least eat half of mine.” 

In the end, Sylvain and Felix share a meager portion. Claude finally gives in and quietly eats what he is offered. When they finish, both Claude and Felix look like they are ready to fall asleep sitting up, so Sylvain sets the bedrolls up in the tent. 

“Alright, everyone in,” Sylvain urges. 

Felix doesn’t need to be told twice. Still tired from using up all his healing magic, he goes into the tent and lies down. “Make sure he doesn’t try to kill us in our sleep,” he mumbles. 

“I’m sleeping out here,” Claude tells him. “And I’m leaving first thing in the morning.” 

“It’s snowing,” Sylvain states. “And that fire won’t last all night. You’ll freeze to death out here. Come on.” 

Claude looks reluctant, but he has no real argument to offer, so he ultimately climbs into the small tent and presses himself up against the side as best he can. Sylvain takes the middle. 

As soon as Claude is prone, he begins coughing that same grating cough from earlier, a rattling in his lungs. Sylvain patiently waits for him to finish, then says, “We have a place to go to, you know. We don’t have much, but we at least can give you something for that cough. Think about it.” 

Claude doesn’t reply, so Sylvain closes his eyes and tries to fall asleep. 

He awakens sometime in the dead of night to a strange and unfamiliar sound. He sits up quickly, ready to grab his lance, but a hand reaches for him and guides him back down. “Felix,” he whispers, recognizing the firm touch. 

“Shh,” Felix whispers. “He’s having a nightmare.” 

Sure enough, Claude, on the side opposite of side of Sylvain, is twitching and moaning. “Should we wake him?” Sylvain asks quietly. 

“He needs sleep,” Felix replies. 

Tentatively, Sylvain rests his arm over Claude. Claude seems to settle a little at the contact. 

“Are you holding him?” Felix asks, and even in a whisper, his tone is incredulous. 

“You’re holding me,” Sylvain points out. Felix immediately moves to pull his arm away, but Sylvain says, “Come on, don’t. We all need good sleep tonight.” 

Felix huffs in annoyance, but leaves his arm over him. 

A few minutes pass, then Sylvain asks quietly, “This is good, isn’t it? We can bring him back and work on a new plan.” 

“Sylvain...” Felix begins, but he doesn’t finish the thought. It’s a chide, albeit a gentle one. 

“I know, I know. Don’t get my hopes up. But he’s the first survivor we’ve found in so long. And it’s Claude. If anyone can come up with a plan, it’s him.” 

Before the war took a turn, before Claude was presumed dead, he had developed a reputation for his tactics. It was said even Those Who Slither in the Dark had come to respect him — even fear him. Sylvain can’t help but have a little hope that he will have something up his sleeve. 

“Five years is a long time.” Felix’s shifts closer to Sylvain, pressing against him, and Sylvain feels warmer for it. “He was trying to cross the border in the middle of winter, wearing nothing but a thin cloak.” 

“...I know,” Sylvain whispers. 

Felix is a pessimistic realist and Sylvain teeters between having a death wish and looking for signs of hope. They balance each other out in a way that keeps them grounded as a unit. But in this matter, Sylvain refuses to let go of this thin glimmer of promise. He wants to believe that Claude will have an answer — that he was headed to Sreng for a reason. 

The next time Sylvain awakens, it’s to Claude sitting up suddenly and succumbing to a coughing fit so violent, Felix hurries out of the tent to retrieve some water for him. As Claude catches his breath and drinks the water, Felix scrutinizes him in the cloudy light of the morning. 

“You have a fever,” he announces. 

Sylvain studies him, too, and sees that Felix is probably right. Claude’s eyes look glassy and his face is an unhealthy color, save for his cheeks, which are flush with a red hue. 

“That’s good news,” Claude croaks. “It means my body’s working again.” 

“It’s bad news,” Felix counters, “because you’re going to slow us down.” 

“I’m going north.” 

“Claude,” Sylvain pleads, “please come back with us. Whatever’s in Sreng can wait a week or two. You’re going to die if you try to cross like this.” 

“He’ll die either way if he crosses the border,” Felix supplies, unhelpfully, as he begins to pack up the bedrolls. 

“Sorry, things to do, people to see, you know how it is.” 

After waking up to Claude's nightmare the prior night, Sylvain laid awake considering how he could convince Claude to come back with them. Armed with the idea he settled upon, he responds to the refusal immediately. “We have Failnaught." 

Felix's head snaps up and he delivers Sylvain an intense glare that lets him know he’s going to hear an earful later. Claude’s attention follows, a beat behind Felix’s in his fevered state. “How?” 

“Hilda. After you disappeared.” 

Claude closes his eyes and remains quiet for a long moment. “Is she still —?” 

Sylvain mentally kicks himself. Felix looks as though he would like to kick him too. “No. I’m sorry.” Hilda died fighting along side them, to a creature who looked like her brother. That was before they understood that the creatures could look like loved ones. It had been gruesome, but Claude doesn’t need to know the details. 

Claude takes a breath, which makes him cough, which helps transition the moment away from difficult topics. “Okay. I’ll come, but only to get Failnaught. I need a weapon.” 

“You need a lot more than that,” Felix says. 

They set out. Despite his sickly state, Claude is able to maintain a decent enough pace that the trip down to the southern part of Gautier territory only takes half a day longer than it normally would. For the most part, they travel in silence, focusing on keeping each other alert and aware despite the cold, and too tired at night to bother sharing stories. Sylvain and Felix take turns ensuring Claude remains warm and upright, occasionally healing him to stave off the worst of his illness. They get lucky and find another stray squirrel trying to forage in the snow, which keeps them fed long enough to make it back. 

When they finally arrive to the run-down manor home that currently operates as their base, Annette greets them with a cheerful, “Are you man or beast?” 

To which Felix replies, “I am man.” The small smile on his face doesn’t escape Sylvain's notice. Annette is one of the few people who can always put Felix in a good mood, regardless of the situation. Admittedly, it works on him, too. No matter how terrible things are, Annette always tries to maintain her good cheer. Sometimes, it is all that keep their small group going. 

“Welcome back!” Annette exclaims, letting them inside. “Who’s this? Is it — a survivor? Really?” Visibly excited, she steps over to Claude, who backs away at her sudden approach. “Oh, sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself, it’s just — wow! It’s been so long since we’ve seen anyone else. Hey, are you okay?” 

“He’s sick,” Felix tells her. “Can you get Mercedes?” 

“Sure, right away!” She runs off to do just that, while Sylvain and Felix begin removing their cloaks. Claude keeps his on. 

“Hello,” Mercedes greets them as she comes into the room, Annette on her heels. “How was the hunt?” 

“Not good,” Sylvain replies. 

“Sylvain got sidetracked,” Felix adds. 

“So I see.” Mercedes steps over to Claude, who lingers near the door, as though he’s ready to leave at a moment’s notice. “Hello, my name is Mercedes,” she says, but then stops. “Oh, but you already know that, don’t you? It’s been a while, Claude.” 

“Claude?” Annette whispers loudly. “As in — Claude from the Alliance?” 

“Shh, we’ll fill you in later,” Sylvain tells her. 

“It has,” Claude agrees, voice hoarse. “I’m not staying long.” 

“I understand,” Mercedes replies, nodding. “But you look a little cold standing in the doorway like that. Do you want to come inside?” 

She takes a few steps into the room and Claude slowly follows, eyes darting around the room while he walks, anxiously taking everything in. He stops to cough, and Mercedes stops with him. “I have something I can give you for that, if you’d like.” 

“Tea? Or a potion?” Claude resumes walking, so Mercedes leads him further into the manor. 

“Both, actually. We’re low on supplies, but we have enough to spare.” 

As their conversation fades, Sylvain drapes himself in an old, dusty chair and smiles. “I love watching Mercedes work.” 

“I’ll go talk to Dimitri,” Felix decides, leaving the room. 

“Okay,” Annette says gravely, sitting across from Sylvain. “Tell me everything.” 

* * *

More often than not, these days, Dimitri finds himself doing nothing. As their group has dwindled, so have their aspirations, and any hope of success along with it. He has long resigned himself to accepting that this is a losing battle, and no amount of prodding from the dead will change that. It is only a matter of time before they fall like the others. Even the fire of his revenge, which kept him fighting for so long, has started to die out. Soon, there will be nothing. 

He sits at the window in his room, staring out at a world that rarely moves. Even in springtime, there are no birds to sing, no deer to nibble on grass. Everything is dreadfully quiet — so quiet that even the apparitions of the dead fall silent in fear. The sound of a world dying is no sound at all, Dimitri has learned. 

Someone knocks, which is also unusual these days. There’s no point in bothering Dimitri to be a leader if he has nothing to lead, after all. 

“Enter,” he calls out solemnly, but he doesn’t turn his head. 

Felix steps inside — he can always tell it’s Felix by his irritated stride. “Are you man or beast?” he asks. It is a common question now that the world is overrun with creatures that wear friends’ faces, but Felix poses it to Dimitri with an additional layer of meaning. He wants to know if Dimitri is in his right mind. 

“I am man,” Dimitri replies. “What is it?” 

“We have a guest,” Felix tells him. “Clean yourself up and be a leader for once.” 

“A guest?” Dimitri asks, finally turning his one eye on Felix. 

“That’s what I said.” Felix crosses his arms. “You look terrible. If he sees you like this, he won't stay.” 

“Who is it?” Dimitri gets to his feet, a mild stirring of hope in his chest. It’s been too long since anyone has sought them out for help. Too long since they’ve made any difference at all. 

“Claude von Riegan.” 

“Claude...von Riegan,” Dimitri repeats. The name feels foreign on his tongue, given how long it’s been since they have had any need to say it. “...He is alive?” 

“Alive. Not well, but Mercedes is checking him out now.” 

“How?” Dimitri asks. 

“Don’t ask me.” 

Dimitri tries to think this through, putting it together with what he knows about Claude. According to Hilda, Claude had been felled by a demonic beast while trying to protect the Alliance from Those Who Slither in the Dark. He left behind his bow, which she brought with her as proof of his death when she joined their struggle. She had been haunted by his death until the very end, so they never had any reason to doubt her. But how could he still be alive, if the attack was as brutal as she described? 

“It can’t be him,” Dimitri decides out loud. 

Felix rolls his eyes. “Go see for yourself.” 

Then he leaves. 

Dimitri takes his advice and cleans himself up. He changes his clothes and dons his signature blue cloak for the first time in months. He puts on his eye patch. He tries to look like a leader who would be king, because whether this is Claude or not, he wants to present a strong front to their visitor. 

When he leaves his room, he walks until he hears Mercedes’ voice. She is in the hall, speaking with Sylvain. “Oh, Dimitri! How are you today?” 

“Felix informed me that we have a visitor.” 

Mercedes, as usual, is not put off by his questionable social skills. She smiles, a little sadly. “Claude, yes. He’s in the room at the end of the hall.” 

“So it is Claude?” Dimitri asks, still doubtful. 

“It is.” 

He can’t wrap his mind around it. How is he alive? Why is he here now, after all this time, when it’s far too late for him to make any difference at all? 

“Felix mentioned he’s not well.” He tries to focus on obtaining information. 

“He’s ill, but he will recover with some rest. I healed what I could, but he won’t allow me to examine him.” 

“Felix healed some of his injuries when we found him, too,” Sylvain adds. “So nothing should be broken or bleeding.” 

Dimitri nods, trying to shake the surreal feeling out his head. None of this makes any sense to him, but there is only one way to get answers. “I will speak with him.” 

“When you do,” Sylvain says, “go a little easy on him, okay? He seems...” 

“Afraid,” Mercedes finishes for him. 

Sylvain nods. “He was trying to defect when we found him. He almost made it to Sreng.” 

“I will do what I can,” Dimitri replies, though he feels that he is probably the worst candidate to speak with him, if that is the case. But he is the leader of this faction, even if that means increasingly little these days, so he will do his job. 

He knocks on the door at the end of the hall. Upon hearing a muffled reply from within, he enters, shutting the door behind him. 

The man is sitting in a corner, back to the wall, a blanket over his shoulders. It looks as though he is wearing fresh clothes, save for the tattered gloves he still wears on his hands. He stares blearily at Dimitri as he enters. Dimitri stops and stares as well, studying the man’s face. Though worn from his journey and clearly not feeling his best, the man is unmistakably Claude. 

This revelation makes it difficult for Dimitri to find his voice. When he does, he fails to offer a proper greeting, instead settling on, “I was told you were resting.” 

If Claude is struck by how different Dimitri looks, with long unkempt hair and missing an eye, he doesn’t let it show. “That’s what I’m doing,” he says, and he does his best to smile, but it is weak behind the pallor of illness. 

“On the floor?” Dimitri asks. With Claude hunched in the corner, Dimitri feels like he must seem tall and foreboding. He doesn’t like that, so he takes a seat on the floor, too, some space away from Claude. 

“On the floor,” Claude repeats, eyeing him warily. 

“Fair enough.” There are a lot of things that Dimitri wants to ask, but when he’s faced with Claude like this, all the questions seem too heavy to ask. It takes him a moment to find more words. Finally, he ventures, “Do you need anything?” 

“My bow,” Claude replies. “Sylvain said you have it.” 

“Failnaught is yours, of course, but I hope you intend to use it alongside us.” As opposed to the various other alternatives — against him, or perhaps even worse, away from him. Claude would be an asset if he chose to remain with them. 

That makes Claude chuckle, which causes him to cough. “You wouldn’t want me at your side these days.” 

“I would,” Dimitri replies without any hesitation. “With your mind and my strength, we —” 

“Stop right there.” Claude shifts, curling into the blanket even more. “My mind isn’t what it once was.” 

“You say that because you are sick and tired,” Dimitri tells him, confident of this fact. “With some rest —” 

“I knew it would come to this.” Claude stands, then, unsteadily. “I shouldn’t have come here.” 

Alarmed, Dimitri also rises. “Claude, wait —” 

“I will not be used again.” He tosses the blanket over the bed. “You can keep Failnaught. I was going to give it to you in the end, anyway.” 

He turns to go, but Dimitri reaches for him, grabbing him by the arm. “Will you wait—” he tries to say, but as soon as his fingers close around his arm, Claude wrenches himself backward in a jerking motion. Dimitri releases him, afraid that he inadvertently hurt him with his strength. Then Claude moves, quicker than a sick man should, pulling a sharpened stick from his clothing. He brandishes it at Dimitri. 

“Touch me again,” he says, voice dark, “and I will run this into your neck.” 

Dimitri puts both his hands up in hopes of calming him. “I am sorry, Claude. I didn’t meant to grab you. I just —” He struggles to find words, yet again. He is no longer good at this — his communication skills have languished and he no longer can give anyone what they need. “Please hear me out.” 

Claude doesn’t lower the sharpened stick, but he doesn’t move to leave, either, so Dimitri continues. “It is true that I would like for you to work with us. But it is your choice. If you have no desire to do so, that is fine.” It isn’t fine, Dimitri thinks — they need this. They need him. But Claude needs to hear otherwise, and what is most important is getting him to stay. “I would ask that you please at least stay until you are well, again. At that time, you can decide what to do with Failnaught.” 

Claude lowers the makeshift weapon. “All these years,” he says, bitterly, “and you’re still a terrible liar.” 

“And your mind is not as dull as you think.” 

Claude’s expression twists, but he tucks his weapon away into his clothes. Then he retrieves the blanket and wraps himself in it again. “I’ll stay for a day or two. I have no choice, like this.” He moves his arm beneath the blanket, a mild gesture that Dimitri takes to mean the condition of his body. “But then I’m going north.” 

“Why north?” It is pushing his already narrow luck, but Dimitri asks anyway. “You’ll be killed as soon as you cross the border. Tensions are worse now than they have ever been. Sreng wants nothing to do with our mess.” 

Claude tucks himself into the corner again, back to the wall. “I’m tired,” he tells Dimitri. 

It is difficult for Dimitri to rein in his questions — he is a mess even in the best of times — but Claude has at least agreed to stay for a couple days more. That is something. 

“Rest,” Dimitri tells him. “We can talk more later.” 

He leaves Claude and finds Felix, who has changed out of his travel clothes, sitting at a table in the dining room. Sylvain is next to him, leaning into him as they speak softly to each other. Dimitri clears his throat and both men look at him. 

“What of the hunt?” he asks. 

Felix pulls back from Sylvain, choosing instead to lean over the table so he can level a full glare at Dimitri. “What do you care?” 

Sylvain puts a hand on his leg in an effort to calm him. “Easy.” 

“He hasn’t asked about our food stores in months,” Felix seethes. “Now you want to play leader?” 

“We have another mouth to feed,” Dimitri replies slowly, though he knows there is truth to Felix’s point. He has been checked out as a leader for a long time, now, having little left to offer. 

Before Felix can bristle again, Sylvain says, “There was nothing. The border is barren. We’ll have to start moving south.” 

“No,” Felix and Dimitri say together, which only makes Felix look more annoyed. He sets his mouth into a tight line while Dimitri elaborates, “It’s too dangerous.” 

“We need to do something,” Sylvain states with a sigh. “We don’t have enough to make it to the end of winter.” 

“One demonic beast will feed us all season,” Felix says. It’s an argument he’s made several times now, one that no one wants to entertain. The beasts are extremely dangerous to fight, and worse, they don’t know if there will be any ill-effects of trying to eat them. 

“We will try again, before it comes to that,” Dimitri decides out loud. 

Felix chimes in with a sarcastically echoing, “We,” as Dimitri continues, “But not yet. We must focus our efforts on helping Claude.” 

“Did he tell you anything?” Sylvain asks. 

“No. But he will in time.” Dimitri hopes his words sound confident, but he believes Claude is more likely to slip out into the night than he is to stick around. Felix seems to share the sentiment, because he rises from his seat, effectively checking out of the conversation. 

“I’m going to bed,” he tells Sylvain. 

Sylvain also gets to his feet. “I’ll come.” Then, to Dimitri: “We’re beat. It was a long walk back.” 

Dimitri nods and they go off to their room, leaving him in silence. For a while, he lingers at the table, merely thinking. As it grows dark outside, he decides to sit in the manor’s entryway. Sleep has been a struggle for him for as long as he can remember, and tonight is no different. Instead of turning in, he will wait to see if Claude attempts to leave, as he expects him to do. 

As he sits in the dark foyer, shadows cast on the walls by the dim candlelight, he thinks of Dedue. He thinks of Glenn. He thinks of his father. None of their ghosts visit him; they have given up on him yet again. His thoughts begin to teeter on the darkness of his failures, inching along toward the edges of his reality. He can feel himself losing time, not quite sleeping, but not quite awake, his mind fraying — 

And then Claude is there, wrapped in a blanket, standing before him. A sign of hope — all they have left. He comes back into the present moment. 

“Claude…” Dimitri murmurs. “Where are you going?” 

“Am I a prisoner?” Claude asks. He tries to laugh but the sound grates in his chest. “Why are you guarding the door?” 

“I was waiting for you,” Dimitri tells him honestly. 

“Are you stopping me?” He takes a tentative step toward the door, as though he expects Dimitri to jump up and prevent him from continuing. 

“No. But I would like to speak with you before you go.” 

Claude continues until he reaches the door. Then he reaches for the handle, eyeing Dimitri like he still doesn’t trust that he will be allowed to leave. 

Dimitri does not move to stop him. 

Claude drops his hand. “I wasn’t leaving. Yet.” He leans against the door, shrugging into it. “I can’t sleep in that tiny room.” 

“So you would...rather sleep outside?” Dimitri asks. 

“I thought some fresh air might help,” Claude explains, trying to sound nonchalant. 

“It’s too cold for you to be out there in your state. You can take my room,” Dimitri offers. “It has a large glass window — the only large pane in the manor.” 

He intends it to be a generous offer, a way of gaining Claude’s trust. He uses that room for that very reason, but he would gladly sacrifice it if it helps Claude settle into this place. But Claude rests his head against the door and says, “Please just let me go outside,” as though Dimitri is holding him back. As though he truly is captive. 

Dimitri’s stomach sinks as his mind supplies possible explanations for the mildly pleading tone accompanying Claude’s words, but he forces himself not to ask questions, as much as they burn his tongue. 

He stands. “I will join you, then,” is all he says. When Claude doesn’t pull open the door, Dimitri approaches and does it for him. 

It seems to help. Claude moves back so Dimitri can open the door and then he steps out into the cold wind, seemingly more relaxed. Dimitri steps outside with him and closes the door behind them. Though Claude shivers in the winter weather, he closes his eyes and takes several deep breaths. Dimitri, less affected by the cold, stands beside him in silence and allows Claude his moment. 

After some time, Claude murmurs a quiet, “Okay.” They head back into the warmth of the foyer. 

Once inside, Dimitri sits in his chair again. Claude, as Dimitri has learned he tends to prefer, sits on the floor with his back against the wall opposite of Dimitri. They remain that way for a while, both unspeaking. Dimitri doesn’t mind, because he can hear Claude breathing, a slight wheeze accompanying each inhale, and that is far preferable to the threatening quiet of earlier. 

Eventually, Claude asks, “Who else is here?” 

“We are a small group,” Dimitri replies, ashamed at the admittance. After all, isn’t it the failure of the leader, to have his survivors dwindle to such an extent? “Sylvain, Felix, Mercedes, and Annette, as you know. Bernadetta von Varley is here also. She was a Black Eagle, you might recall. Lorenz Gloucester and Ferdinand von Aegir were here as well until recently. They went east in search of a group of survivors and haven’t returned.” Dimitri doesn’t know when he is supposed to consider them dead instead of merely late — his mind still has trouble accepting that Ingrid is gone, even though she has been missing for over a year. 

“That’s all?” Claude asks. 

“We had some villagers until recently.” It’s useless information now, but Dimitri wants to impart that they weren’t always this small and incapable. “Felix taught them to fight, but it wasn’t enough.” 

They had a run in with a beast and all of the villagers perished. That had been the final blow before they began to fall into a quiet despair. The end of their hope. 

Claude nods, but doesn’t ask further questions. Dimitri tries one of his own. “Where have you been all these years, Claude? We thought you were dead.” 

“I was as good as dead.” He shrugs again, then tightens the blanket around his shoulders. 

“What does that mean?” Dimitri implores, leaning forward, his body tensing at the dangling of potential information. 

Claude’s expression transitions from neutral to guarded as soon as Dimitri moves, but he speaks again. “I was underground.” 

“Underground? Where?” Dimitri asks. Unbidden, he stands, towering over Claude. He knows he needs to keep himself in check, that Claude is skittish and untrusting, but he can’t help himself. He is so desperate for something, anything that can help. 

Claude visibly winces, but he keeps his tone light when he responds. “You’re a lot taller than I remember.” 

“ _Claude_ ,” Dimitri’s voice raises, nearly a yell. “You must tell me what you know.” 

Claude seems so small, huddled in on himself, shirking away from Dimitri’s growing intensity. “I can’t help you,” is his ghost of a reply. 

Dimitri has the sense to pull back in his frustration, but the wild sweeping of his body leads him to collide with a table and sends an old vase down to the floor, where it shatters loudly. 

Several things happen in the next moment, all at once. Felix and Sylvain run into the foyer, followed shortly thereafter by the rest of the manor’s inhabitants. Claude gets to his feet and bolts out the door. Dimitri begins to calm, realizing he was getting away from himself again. 

Felix walks up to him and gives him a hard shove. “Are you man or beast?” he demands. 

Dimitri stares back at him, unsure. 

Sylvain grabs Claude’s forgotten blanket and runs out the door after him. 

Felix shoves him again. “Are you man or beast?” 

“I am…man,” Dimitri answers. “I’m...” He looks at the open door that leads to the darkness. He looks for Claude. 

“Felix,” Mercedes says softly, coming up behind him and giving his shoulder a light squeeze. “Why don’t you and Annette make some tea?” 

“Tea’s a great idea!” Annette walks over and takes Felix’s hand. “Come on, Felix. Bernie, don't you have a secret stash of chamomile?” 

Bernadetta, having also emerged from her room, gasps. “It’s not a secret if you tell everyone!” But she follows Annette and Felix to get the tea. 

“Are you alright?” Mercedes asks Dimitri once they are gone. 

“I scared him,” Dimitri replies, deflating. “I had only meant to ask him a question.” 

She nods in that way she does, where she makes Dimitri feel as though she understands everything he is trying to communicate, even when he has trouble finding his words. “It’s hard to speak about difficult things so late at night, when neither of you have slept. Those conversations should be saved for the morning, don’t you think?” 

“Yes...” Dimitri answers. “I suppose you're right.” 

Sylvain returns at that moment, Claude beside him, wrapped in his blanket again. “Man, it’s cold out there,” Sylvain says, shaking snow off of his clothes. He ushers Claude inside and closes the door behind them. “Not the best weather for a walk, but I do feel refreshed now.” He smiles at Claude, trying to lighten the moment. 

Claude doesn’t smile back, but he does meet Dimitri’s eyes as though the prior incident hadn’t occurred — as though Dimitri hadn’t spooked him into fleeing the manor. “You said I could have your room?” 

“I — ah, yes.” Dimitri stumbles over his words. “Please, take it.” 

Sylvain says, “I’ll show you the way,” and leads him out of the foyer. 

“He’ll come around,” Mercedes tells Dimitri after they’ve left the room. “For now, let’s go have some tea.” 

He relents, and they go to join the others. 

* * *

Once Claude finally sleeps, hunched against the window in Dimitri’s room, he does so for the next full day. Mercedes has to wake him to keep him hydrated and fed. By the second day, she announces that his fever has broken, but that he still needs to rest and shouldn’t be bothered. Dimitri thinks that must be more for Claude’s emotional comfort than his illness. Mercedes has done similar for him in the past. 

Dimitri spends most of that time holed up in the small room that was temporarily Claude’s, but when he emerges, he finds the other inhabitants of the house in better spirits than they have been in months. Annette and Mercedes work on tidying the manor, humming one of Annette’s songs as they clean. Felix and Sylvain spar together in the snow, Sylvain tossing the occasional snowball at Felix to get him worked up. Bernadetta sits in one of the sitting rooms, patching up Claude’s tattered cloak. 

“Almost done,” she announces to Dimitri when he enters the room, holding up the cloak for him to see. “I thought about embroidering a little wyvern on the chest here.” She points. “Do you think that would be too much?” 

“I couldn’t say,” Dimitri answers solemnly. In truth, he is probably the last person who should be questioned about what Claude might like. He already botched their reunion. 

“Maybe I’ll ask him first,” Bernadetta muses out loud, placing the cloak back in her lap. “If he decides to come out of your room.” She laughs self-consciously. “Of course, I understand if he wants to stay in there forever.” 

“If I hadn’t yelled at him...” Dimitri begins but Bernadetta shakes her head. 

“I don’t think it’s that! I think he just needs some time in a safe place.” She smiles at Dimitri. “Just like you and I do sometimes. You know, when it gets to be too much.” 

Dimitri falls quiet, considering her words, as well as her place in their group. She was one of the last to join and had been slow to warm to them, especially Dimitri, given his struggles with his personal demons. She has come a long way since she first arrived. Now, there are times when Dimitri thinks she understands him better than anyone else. This is one of those moments. 

“You are very wise, Bernadetta," he tells her. "We are lucky to have you.” 

She blushes. “Don’t say things like that all of a sudden! Or I might need to go to my room right now!” But she laughs and returns to her work. 

Before long, the others join them and talk about eating together. “We haven’t in so long,” Annette points out. “We can ask Claude to join us, too.” 

“Who’s cooking?” Felix asks. 

“You are!” Annette reminds him. “It’s your turn.” 

Felix grumbles something inaudible, but Annette just laughs and offers to help him. 

“Will you go see if Claude will join us?” Mercedes asks Dimitri. 

“Wouldn’t it be better if you speak with him?” Dimitri asks, still bothered by his last conversation with Claude. 

“I think it would be best if you asked him,” she replies. “He’s seen so much of me these past couple of days.” 

He knows this is Mercedes’ way of getting him to speak with Claude again, but Dimitri has never been able to deny Mercedes anything — not after all she has done for him. “If you think so.” 

He goes to his room and knocks on the door. Claude invites him in, his voice sounding much stronger than it had two nights prior. Dimitri enters to see that Claude is huddled against the window, still tucked in that blanket, but he has a healthier air about him, now. 

“You look better,” Dimitri greets him. 

“I feel better,” Claude admits. 

Dimitri hesitates for a moment. “I must apologize for the other night. I was wrong to yell at you.” 

“Water under the bridge,” Claude replies quietly. “I hardly remember it, anyway. My fever was pretty high, I think.” 

“Even so,” Dimitri presses. “I want to explain.” He takes a breath and tries to find words. “I get lost in my head sometimes and it gets hard for me to control my emotions. It has been harder since...” Losing Ingrid, he nearly says, but he holds that thought back. “Recently. There’s a beast inside of me.” 

“There’s a beast in all of us,” is Claude’s flippant reply. 

“Even if that is true,” Dimitri continues, “mine is difficult to control at times. I cannot promise that it won't happen again, but I can promise that I will never force you to remain with us against your will. You may always leave.” 

Claude gives him a smile, then, though Dimitri would be hard-pressed to call it happy. “Such a prince, even now.” He sighs, an exaggerated sound. “You should consider leaving, too. There’s nothing left to fight for here, anymore.” 

Dimitri shifts from contrite to firm. “Absolutely not. I would rather die fighting than run away from this. This is our mess.” 

“Ah, that’s right.” Claude looks back out the window. “You always were the noble one among us. I was the one who’d run away.” 

“That is not true.” It bothers Dimitri to hear Claude speaking of himself this way. Even though he can deeply understand feelings of self-doubt, Claude was known as a hero when he disappeared. “You fought to save the Alliance until the end. Hilda told us all you did — your final scheme.” 

“Any man can pretend to be good.” Claude’s voice goes cold, losing any semblance of flippancy. “Deep down inside, I'm still the kid who would leave you to die by a bandit’s hand.” 

Dimitri shakes his head. “No, I don’t believe that. I believe you believe that, but I know that is not the truth of who you are.” 

“You don’t know anything about me, Dimitri. Not then, not now.” 

That renders Dimitri speechless, simply because it is true. All these years later, and Claude’s background is still a mystery. But that hardly matters now. Dimitri would even argue that it wouldn't have mattered back then, either. He forces himself to speak again, maintaining his position. “I know you are the kind of man who would sacrifice yourself to save your people. That is enough for me.” 

Claude shakes his head and breathes out a short, humorless huff of a laugh. “I'll tell you this so you know what kind of person I am. Then you can stop pretending that I have anything to offer you. You can either let me go or kill me.” 

“I will not kill you,” Dimitri argues. 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Claude turns to him, pressing his back up against the window. “I've spent the past five years underground with Those Who Slither in the Dark.” Claude throws back the blanket and hooks a gloved hand into the collar of his shirt, pulling it down to reveal a symbol branded below his collarbone — a strange circle with an eye in the center. “Who do you think is mastermind behind the rapid decline of Fódlan?” He smiles bitterly. “The Master Tactician.” 

Claude releases his collar. “You're harboring the man you seek to destroy.” 

Dimitri's mind feels dim. Claude's words sound far away. “Show me again,” he demands. 

“You saw it,” Claude replies. “I’m not showing you again.” 

Something inside of Dimitri's head is roaring; the silence has been driven away. He needs to see it again, because he knows — he _saw_ — that there is more to it. “Again, Claude.” 

“No.” 

Dimitri loses all restraint. He rapidly closes the distance between himself and Claude. This time, Claude doesn’t pull out his makeshift weapon, nor does he try to escape. He waits, resigned. Dimitri grabs his shirt and tears it off of him, allowing it to fall in tatters. His exposed torso reveals the brand, but it reveals so much more than that, too — a network of scars all along Claude’s too-skinny frame, patches that have been burned or cut away, a map of five years of torture in ways that Dimitri’s mind struggles to process. 

Dimitri falls to his knees, his hands hovering before Claude’s body, wanting to touch, to soothe, but being too afraid to do so. 

“What did they do to you?” he asks, feeling the prickling of rage and despair all at once, emotions he believed had long died within him. 

Claude feebly tries to pull the blanket back around his body. “Don’t look.” 

But Dimitri has already seen. He helps Claude pull the blanket back up, covering his exposed scars, then sinks further toward the ground at his feet. “They tortured you.” He tries to take steadying breaths. 

“Don’t make excuses for me. I was weak. I gave in.” 

“That is not weakness. To survive torture, to come out of it alive and reclaim your freedom — that is strength.” 

Claude laughs, but it comes out sounding more like a sob. “How noble of you, again. Haven’t you been listening? I destroyed Fódlan. I did this to you and your friends. To everyone. _This_ is my final scheme.” 

“No, Claude,” Dimitri insists. “I did this. I waged war against the wrong enemy and allowed Those Who Slither in the Dark to take over. If anything, this happened to you because of me — because I went after Edelgard when I should have gone after them.” 

“This isn’t a competition,” Claude chokes out. He’s crying, Dimitri realizes. Belatedly, he notices that there are tears running down his own cheek as well. 

Dimitri reaches for him, pulls him down into his arms and holds him. Claude’s body shakes, but he doesn’t struggle against him. “You are not weak,” he promises. “To have told me this, even knowing — Claude, you are far stronger than you know.” 

“Don’t say that,” Claude whispers. “I don’t want to hear that.” 

So Dimitri says nothing more. He holds Claude close until Claude’s shoulders stop shaking and his breathing steadies. 

Sylvain finds them like that when he comes to retrieve them for dinner. He doesn’t make any teasing remarks about the sight of the two of them huddled together, merely states that it’s time to eat and returns them to their privacy. 

“Eat with us,” Dimitri says as Claude detangles himself from his arms. “Please.” 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Claude pulls his blanket around his shoulders and uses it to wipe at his face. 

“None of them — not a single person in this house would hold this against you, Claude. They won't blame you for any of it. We have all seen what Those Who Slither in the Dark have done. Those horrible experiments. And we have all been pawns in their game, every one of us. Do not think for a moment that any of us would ever hold you responsible.” 

“I don’t want to be forgiven. To be accepted like that, after everything.” Claude’s voice wavers again. 

“It may not be what you want,” Dimitri replies, “but it is what you need.” He knows, because he has been there, too — lost in the depths of his despair, consumed by everything he has done and has not managed to do, his failures, the choices that have led him to where he is today. But through it all, for better or for worse, his friends have accepted him and remained at his side. That is what has saved him before and continues to save him now. 

“I will get you a shirt,” Dimitri decides. “Then you can come to dinner. We will take it slow, but you will see, Claude, that you are one of us, no matter where you come from, and no matter what has happened to you.” 

Dimitri finds him a shirt and Claude reluctantly joins them for dinner. They eat and share stories about their school days. Bernadetta asks if she can embroider a wyvern on Claude’s cloak. She talks about how she’s been taking good care of Failnaught in his absence. Mercedes brings out a surprise treat for all of them, a few sweets she has been saving for a special occasion. Annette demonstrates a new bit of magic she’s been practicing. Felix and Sylvain banter with each other, as usual. 

Dimitri sits back and watches his family accept Claude as part of their group, while Claude slowly begins to respond to it — offering a short story of his own, tasting one of the sweets, remembering pieces of himself. 

Dimitri dares to hope. 

As they begin to wind down, Felix asks, “Why were you going to Sreng?” 

“I was going home,” Claude explains quietly. 

“Home to Sreng?” Sylvain asks. “No way you’re from there.” 

“To Almyra, via Sreng. I was going to barter for a ride across the sea. That was the plan, anyway.” 

“You’d be better off going east, dangerous as it is,” Sylvain tells him. “A demonic beast crossed the border into Sreng a while back. Since then, they won’t let anyone cross for any reason.” 

“It’s possible the same has happened in the east,” Mercedes points out. “We haven’t heard anything from that side of Fódlan in so long.” 

“Yeah, but if they know him, he’d have a better chance getting into Almyra than he would trying to get into Sreng.” 

The conversation soon changes from border issues to lighter topics, like who is responsible for cleaning up dinner. No one harps on Claude’s origins. As Dimitri predicted, his place of birth is no barrier in their group. 

Claude catches his eye, briefly. Dimitri reaches over and takes his hand, giving it a light squeeze and vowing to himself that he will prove to Claude that he is accepted. 

Claude squeeze back, just a little. 

* * *

Exactly three months and five days after his arrival at the manor, Claude wakes up next to his window and looks outside. The snow is starting to melt and the sun is shining brighter. Alone, that might inspire the hope of spring, but as he watches, he sees something even more promising: a small bird, flying toward a tree and landing on a branch. 

A sign of life. 

Dimitri is in the bed, snoring lightly. Claude tiptoes over to him and climbs under the covers, curling up against him. Sleepily, Dimitri drapes his arm over him. Claude enjoys the warmth and dozes with him for a bit, relishing the feeling of safety. 

Eventually, they wake up for morning chores. Sylvain and Felix had returned with food the day prior, the first big haul since before Claude’s arrival — a large moose that still needs to be fully dressed. It is Claude’s job to prepare and dry it for the days to come. 

Before that, though, Claude calls everyone into the one of the sitting rooms. As they take their seats, Dimitri places himself next to Claude, offering silent support. 

“I have an idea,” he announces. Then, after consideration, he amends the statement: “A scheme.” 

Everyone listens. 

“I want us — all of us — to go east, to Almyra. And then I want to come back with an army.” 

Claude confesses, for the first time, his royal ties to the eastern land. He describes his plan to request aid in the interest not only of Fódlan, but also of Almyra, which is at great risk of being the next territory that Those Who Slither in the Dark will attempt to annex. He lays out the potential difficulties of earning Almyran support despite his royal ties, but ultimately declares that he believes it can be done — that they can save Fódlan. Together. 

Everyone unanimously agrees with the plan. They immediately discuss preparations. 

Dimitri takes Claude’s hand, just as he had all those nights ago, and gives it a squeeze. Claude squeezes back. 

Together, they will keep fighting. They will work to right their wrongs. They will go east, amass an army, and finally bring Fódlan into a new dawn.


End file.
